THE VIRON CONSPIRACY (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS #4)

by Lawrence de Maria

  They were interrupted by the arrival of Rasmussen and Turchin.

  “Well, I think I have enough for today, Dr. Lenzer,” Scarne said, rising. “You’ve been most helpful. I think I can find my way out. I’m looking forward to my tour of your lab tomorrow.”

  “Good. Stop by here in the morning and we’ll have that briefing book ready for you.”

  They shook hands and Scarne left, nodding at Rasmussen and Turchin on the way out. But instead of heading to the building lobby, he veered off toward the cafeteria, which was almost deserted.

  Just past the dining area were two small restrooms. A cleaning lady was just going in the men’s room with her equipment. Scarne stopped for a cup of black coffee at the self-serve machine in the cafeteria and waited for the woman to finish. He hoped that she had already cleaned the men’s room.

  She hadn’t. When she finally came out, that’s where she went next. Scarne got another cup of coffee and, after making sure they weren’t made out of tofu or sawdust, a couple of blueberry muffins.

  “Looks like you’re our last customer,” the woman at the cash register told him.

  “What time does the place shut down,” Scarne asked casually.

  “Food service closes at 5:30. But you can still sit in the cafeteria. The room is open all night in case someone wants to bring in something to eat. Coffee and other vending machines are available.”

  Scarne sat and ate while he waited for the cleaning lady to finish. The woman was apparently very thorough, and he was on his third cup of coffee when she finally emerged. By then, he actually needed to use the bathroom. He looked around. He saw only two men and no women in the cafeteria. It was now almost 6 P.M. and he could see workers walking to their cars in the parking lot in the rear of the building. He assumed that any women leaving after work who wanted to use a restroom would opt for one off the lobby. So, when he was sure no one in the cafeteria was watching, he slipped into the ladies’ room.

  CHAPTER 25 - STEAKS AND STAKES

  It was just after 7 P.M. when Anne Rasmussen pulled the Explorer into the circular driveway of Lenzer’s Federal-style brick home, which was situated in an upscale development of houses on five-acre plots a half hour from the BVM headquarters. She and Turchin walked up to the ornate front door, which was centered between two marble columns and topped by an elliptical-shaped stained-glass window. A tall, tough-looking man in butler’s garb answered their ring and ushered them into the front hallway after they announced themselves.

  “Dr. Lenzer is on the patio. You can leave your suitcase here, Dr. Turchin. I will take it up to your room later. Now, if you will please follow me.”

  “Perfect timing,” Lenzer said when they walked onto the patio, where a barbecue grill was shimmering with heat. There was a small table set up as a bar and another was set for dinner, with bowls of various salads and a platter of large steaks. “I hope you will be joining us for dinner, Anne.”

  “Oh, thank you, Roland, but I’ve made other plans.”

  “I didn’t know one could make other plans in Boone City,” Lenzer said with a laugh. “But how about a drink? Surely, you have time for a cocktail.”

  “That would be nice. Perhaps a glass of white wine.”

  “Wonderful.” He turned to the manservant. “Karl. A chardonnay for the lady. And two vodka martinis. The Moskovskaya vodka.”

  When they were settled with their drinks, Turchin commented on the weather.

  “Yes, it is unusually warm for the time of year,” Lenzer said. “They call it an Indian summer. Although to be politically correct, I probably should say Native-American summer!”

  All three laughed. Anne Rasmussen crossed her legs, giving both men a look at a shapely calf and an ankle with a small butterfly tattoo. They all chatted amiably for a while until she finished her wine and rose to leave.

  “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with one of those steaks?” Lenzer said.

  “Thank you, no. I must get going.”

  “I’m so sorry. Karl will show you out.”

  Both men’s eyes followed the pair out, although they concentrated on the woman’s swaying hips and firm bottom. Lenzer sighed. Then he got up and poured two more martinis.

  “That is one fine-looking bitch,” he commented. “I wouldn’t have minded if she had stayed for a while longer. It would be a pleasure to share the company of a beautiful woman.”

  “That, she is,” Turchin agreed. He paused. “But it wasn’t particularly intelligent of you to have your man make me a martini without my asking for it.”

  “It’s what you drink, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But we’re not supposed to know each other.”

  Lenzer shrugged.

  “She never noticed. Typically dim American bureaucrat. One I wouldn’t mind fucking, mind you.”

  Turchin sipped his drink and shook his head.

  “I’ve often wondered why you haven’t married, Roland. For a time, we all thought you were a homosexual. Until we had to get you out of that trouble with that prostitute in Karl-Marx-Stadt. The one who died.”

  “Your KGB is showing, Anzor,” Lenzer said. “Karl-Marx-Stadt has been renamed. It’s now called Chemnitz. As for marriage? What is that but state-sanctioned prostitution.”

  “What do you do for feminine companionship out here in this godforsaken country?”

  “My work keeps me pretty busy. Some of the women in the company have made their availability known to me. I am what they would call a good catch. A few are quite attractive. A few are even married. But I avoid local entanglements, for obvious reasons. I travel enough to large cities where there is always enough entertainment.”

  “I trust you are careful, Roland. We have invested a lot of time and money in you. There is a lot at stake.”

  Lenzer laughed.

  “Don’t worry. My urges have mellowed with age. As for the time, I have devoted my life to this project. And I don’t need your money, anymore. The damn Americans pay their CEO’s like they are royalty. Even the incompetent ones. And they believe I am a genius. Which, of course, I am.”

  The butler reappeared.

  “Anything else, Doctor?”

  “No. I think I can handle the steaks. Just make sure we are not disturbed.”

  “Very well.”

  After the man left, Turchin said, “Not your typical butler, I presume. Tough-looking bastard.”

  “Karl doubles as my bodyguard. Former Stasi. Only an adequate manservant, but one must make allowances, I suppose.”

  The patio’s outdoor lights flickered on automatically in the dusk. Lenzer stood.

  “Now. If I remember, Anzor, you like your steaks bloody. Yes?””

  ***

  Scarne checked his watch. It was just after 8 P.M. when he emerged from one of the stalls in the ladies room. He put his ear to the outer bathroom door and then opened it carefully. The cafeteria was deserted. He wondered about security guards. Well, if he ran into any, he’d just try to brazen his way through it. He had his notebook and his visitor’s badge. The building wasn’t locked down, after all. Judging from the fair number of cars in the parking lot, there were probably some people working late. He’d say he was still conducting interviews. Scarne walked to Lenzer’s office suite, passing several rooms that had people working in them. So far, so good.

  Lenzer’s suite was deserted. The outer glass door was open and he slipped in unnoticed. The solid wooden door to Lenzer’s private office was locked but Scarne knew that wouldn’t create a problem unless it was alarmed, which he doubted. Using some tools of his trade that he always carried in a small pouch, he started working on the lock. The outer office also had a glass front, so he was visible from the corridor and at one point he had to duck behind a desk when someone walked by. But then he was quickly through the door. He shut and locked it, then turned on the light switch.

  Scarne went to Lenzer’s desk. Its top was devoid of anything save for an in-an-out box, a phone and some pens in a coffee mug that
had the BVM logo. No photos of family. Scarne glanced at other cabinets and ledges. All bare. There were a few plaques and diplomas on the walls, but the room was surprisingly sterile. Scarne would have said it lacked a woman’s touch, but it gave the appearance of lacking a man’s touch as well. He began going through the desk drawers, looking for anything that might tie Lenzer to Bryan Vallance’s murder. He wasn’t hopeful, but he knew he needed more than the “make it so” remark to prove anything.

  Next, he went through the filing cabinets. None of them were even locked, not a good sign for someone looking for a smoking gun. All the files were business-related. None was labeled “Murder” or “Assassination.” By the time he finished, Scarne would have settled for a file labeled “Parking Violations.” He knew the only thing he’d be able to prove for sure was that Lenzer was an incredibly hard worker and a capable administrator. There wasn’t even a computer for him to search through. Lenzer probably used a laptop.

  Scarne froze. Someone had opened the door in the outer office. He went to Lenzer’s door and listened. The handle jiggled. Somebody tried the door. Probably a security guard checking all the offices. He wondered if the light in Lenzer’s office showed under the door and if a guard would even notice, or care. People left on lights all the time. The jiggling stopped, and a moment later Scarne heard the other door close. The hell with this, he thought. I’m not going to find anything incriminating here. He waited five minutes, turned out the light and peeked out the door into an empty office. There was no one in the corridor so he walked out, turning back to close the door and make sure it was locked.

  “Hold it right there. Don’t lock it. Just walk back in.”

  It was a woman’s voice. Low and tense. Familiar. Scarne tried to place it. He felt something hard dig into his lower back. He knew instinctively it was a gun. He did as he was told. The gun pushed deeper into his spine. That was a mistake. Whoever was holding it should have kept some distance. Scarne whirled around, his arm low to sweep the gun aside. But the woman was not as inexperienced as he’d assumed. He caught a quick glimpse of her face before she smashed her gun against his head and everything went black.

  CHAPTER 26 - THE BIG LEAGUES

  When Scarne came to, he was face down on the floor inside Lenzer’s office. The lights were on. He looked up slowly, to see a woman’s ankle, with a small butterfly tattoo.

  “You can get up,” Anne Rasmussen said. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

  She was holding a Glock in one hand and Scarne’s wallet in her other, reading its contents.

  “My, my,” she said. “A private investigator from New York. A little bit off your turf, aren’t you, Mr. Scarne?”

  Scarne slowly got to his feet.

  “I could say the same about you,” he said, trying not to wobble. “Or are all Department of Agriculture personnel armed?”

  He reached out to a desk for support. His head was throbbing and he felt nauseous. She threw his wallet back to him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Give me a second,” Scarne said. “That was pretty good. Shutting the outer door to lure me out. I never saw you.”

  “I got down behind a desk.”

  “How did you know I was in the office? The light?”

  Rasmussen smiled.

  “The scratches you made when you worked the lock. They weren’t there this afternoon.”

  Scarne considered that. She was a pro.

  “My tax dollars at work,” he said. “What are you? C.I.A., F.B.I., or N.S.A.?”

  “Come on, stop stalling,” Rasmussen said. “I didn’t hit you that hard. You went down like a sack of bricks. Big, tough private eye you are.”

  “You managed to hit me exactly where someone else slugged me a couple of days ago.”

  Scarne’s head was clearing, although the dull pain that had just gone away from his first bruise had returned. He touched his head gingerly. The throbbing increased exponentially. But his hand came away clean. No blood.

  “You’ll live,” Rasmussen said. “Now, what are you doing here?”

  “Probably the same thing you are. Trying to figure out what Lenzer is up to with that Russian.”

  “How’s it going so far?”

  “I seem to be getting hit on the head a lot.”

  Scarne bent to the floor and picked up his glasses, which had shattered.

  “Cheap,” Rasmussen said. “You should invest in shatter-proof lenses. And those frames are from hunger. Not very stylish.”

  “I don’t wear glasses. These cost ten bucks at the drug store.”

  “A disguise? Lord save us.”

  “Hey. I can’t pose as a sexy Department of Agriculture official.”

  “You can’t pose as a writer, either. They were bound to see through you. You’re lucky you’re not lying under 100 tons of soybeans in a grain silo.”

  “It’s worked before.”

  Rasmussen suddenly smiled.

  “Scarne. Jake Scarne. I thought that name sounded familiar. You were involved in that literary cock-up in New York with the Indian guy. And before that with the Chinese. Jeez. I didn’t realize I was in the big leagues.”

  She was being sarcastic. And enjoying herself.

  “How did you know about that?”

  “We keep up on everything related to foreign nationals. But enough chit chat. Why are you interested in Lenzer?”

  She holstered her weapon.

  “He killed Bryan Vallance.” Scarne could tell that surprised her. “You didn’t know?”

  She looked at him.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Not here. Let’s go get a cup of coffee in the cafeteria.”

  Scarne saw her face.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We can talk. The place is deserted.”

  ***

  “I must say, Roland, you cook an excellent steak.”

  Lenzer and Turchin were finishing up the last of their meal.

  “Thank you. I’ve grown quite fond of barbecuing. I’m not a recluse, you know. I often invite co-workers over on weekends. Must play the part. I’ve even become quite knowledgeable about American football. Much more interesting than our version in Europe.”

  “Man of the people?”

  “Something like that. But it also gives me a chance to catch up on office gossip. Especially when people have had too much sun, food and drink.”

  “Do you have your staff from the Black Hole over?”

  Lenzer laughed.

  “Yes, but not all at once. I sprinkle them in in bits. I wouldn’t want them en mass. Too much scrutiny might not be in our best interests.”

  “Yes,” Turchin agreed. “They are somewhat conspicuous. All so … blond and Germanic.”

  “They are the best of the best. Totally loyal and dedicated. Brilliant scientists all.”

  Turchin helped himself to more potato salad.

  “I’m sure they are. But your staff looks like the Waffen SS. Aren’t you worried someone might think you are trying to clone Adolf Hitler in there.”

  “Once a Russian, always a Russian, Anzor? Still worried about the Nazis? Well, enough small talk. I suppose you want an update on where we stand.”

  “Of course. I realize you couldn’t say much with Rasmussen looking over our shoulders.”

  Lenzer smiled.

  “Yes. You got the standard tour, the one we give to all V.I.P. guests. I wish I could have added that pesky writer. Now I have to send him through tomorrow.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Oh, no. Just another distraction. He won’t see anything we don’t want him to see.”

  “What kind of questions has he been asking?”

  “Mostly background about Vallance. The book is about what a wonderful fellow he was.”

  “Too bad he couldn’t fly,” Turchin observed. “You understand, Roland, that’s not how I would have handled it.”

  “We agreed that he had to go, didn’t we?”

  �
�Yes. But in such a spectacular fashion? With so much collateral damage? His family.”

  Lenzer shook his head.

  ‘Why so queasy all of a sudden, Anzor? There will be a lot more collateral damage in what we are planning. In fact, as you are well aware, there already has been.”

  “I’m talking more about the publicity. Couldn’t you just have him run over by a tractor, or something?”

  “You provided the contact to the people who did the work. It had to be done quickly, before Vallance closed down my labs. We were sure to be discovered then. I told the team leader to be inventive, and I didn’t micromanage. I thought the plan was inspired. The more bizarre the death, the less likely the police would look for the obvious. And it has worked out magnificently. An accident might arouse suspicion. Now everyone thinks Vallance was a murder victim, but they pinned it on the wrong murderer, who as it happens is also dead. But enough about Vallance. I’ve spent months telling people how much I admired him. How I’ve lost a dear friend and so on. I hated the son of a bitch. It was all I could do to keep a straight face talking with that writer today.”

  “Will he be a problem?”

  “Stone? No. It’s just a vanity project. I hope our little project has made progress before he publishes, so I won’t have to buy thousands of copies of the fucking book to distribute to my workers. That’s how those things become best-sellers, you know.”

  Lenzer got up and pulled the bottle of the Moskovskaya vodka from an ice bucket.

  “Speaking of our plan, we’ve come up with a name for our little discovery,” he said, pouring two glasses. “So, a toast! To the Viron!”

  CHAPTER 27 - THE BLACK HOLE

  Anne Rasmussen sipped her coffee. They were the only ones in the cafeteria.

  “So, you know Lenzer ordered Bryan Vallance’s murder,” she said, “but you can’t prove it.”

  “That’s why I was burgling Lenzer’s office when you so rudely interrupted. You still haven’t told me why you were there, or who you work for. Was I right about those initialed agencies? My bet is on the F.B.I. Or hasn’t Lenzer been paying his taxes. Are you with the I.R.S.?” Scarne smiled. “No, not the I.R.S. They don’t carry Glocks. They’re more into racks and whips. So, what is it?”